Lord, teach me. . . .

You and I, the people of God, have permission to come before the throne of Heaven at any time we will, and we are encouraged to come there with great boldness. –Charles Spurgeon There’s a beautiful place in Barcelona, La Sacrada Familia Basilica, that’s been under construction since 1882. Designed by Antoni Gaudi, the finished design will have eighteen towers, the tallest of which soars over 170 meters high. It is an architectural wonder, and isn’t expected to be completed until 2026. In the meantime, tourists flock to this beautiful place by the millions. But apparently, when the construction of the cathedral first began, the builders failed to get a construction permit. (Yes, they required them even in 1882.) A hundred and thirty-six years later, the city and the builders have worked out an agreement to pay fines of nearly 32 million pounds —for the oversight of not seeking permission in the first place. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just do the right thing in th

The true work of art is but a shadow of the Divine perfection. --Michelangelo This week I learned that a painting by Rembrandt van Rijn, called The Night Watch , will undergo a very public restoration. Originally painted in 1642, it depicts a citizen watch group, and is considered a true masterpiece. It has had a rough life, to be sure. During World War II, this painting was hidden in a cave with other valuable works of art, away from Nazi eyes—and survived. But in 1975, it was slashed by a man with a knife, leaving twelve deep scars on the canvas. Then in 1990, someone sprayed acid on the canvas, further damaging the veneer. Despite all this, The Night Watch was on display, exposed to ordinary light and pollution. It is in deep need of some renewal. Indeed, the ordinary pace of daily living gets to us all, doesn’t it, causing casual damage we may not even notice until it’s nearly too late. Sometimes, the deepest damage lies so far below the surface, it’s invisible t

The highest and most beautiful things in life are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen, but if one will, are to be lived. --Soren Kierkegaard This week, I headed out early for a service of committal at the Ohio Western Reserve National Cemetery. The drive, seldom interesting, is one I know well, the same drive I made to seminary for three years. But this morning. . . . As I came over a hill, the view was breathtaking. Fog truly came in on its little cat feet, just like Carl Sandburg said, filling the valley. I left the interstate and headed off on country roads. The village hadn’t yet begun to wake up. I turned onto Rawinga, captivated by those amber waves of grain that so inspired Katharine Lee Bates waving in the early morning sunshine, whispering thanks for the service of Ohio veterans. My soul settled in as beautiful flute and oboe music came quietly from my speakers. Shhhhhhh . . . . The cemetery itself stood in silent beauty. Row after row of white

I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church.  For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the Spirit. –Khalil Gibran There is an expression that is thrown about frequently when something unexpected—and usually bad—happens without explanation. Well-meaning folks, trying to empathize, will offer comfort by saying something like, Well, hey, you know? Sometimes sh*t happens . (Apparently, we are supposed to feel better when we realize that the bad things that happen in our lives can’t be helped. I suppose that’s better than blaming the awful, nasty stuff on God, but only a little.) But let’s look at the balance in life. Sometimes, good stuff just happens, too. And church just happens. And just like that other stuff, church frequently happens completely unexpected and in unusual places. Church—space where God’s Spirit shows up and lives are changed—can happen anywhere. It can happen in a park on weekday afternoons; it can ha